


Burn out the Pain

by flightless_soren



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragons, Fluff, M/M, Violence, slight mentions of - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 11:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3446018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightless_soren/pseuds/flightless_soren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian worries a lot. Most of his worries are made up of Trevelyan and giant scaly beasts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn out the Pain

**Author's Note:**

> My Trevelyan run was my dragon hunting run, and it was the only time I would bench Dorian as he wasn't really strong enough to handle them. Thus, I started playing it up in my own head canons. And just in time for the DLC dragon hunting release!! Im so excitedddd ( hurry and come to PS4 orz )

There comes a certain time of the month when the Inquisitor gets a sudden itch for dragon hunting. He'll could be pouring over maps and piece of parchments, or tending his horse out back, or even late at night while reading a book beside a nodding off Dorian; before the itch suddenly makes his head snap up and declare, almost randomly, to the room at large;

"I need to hit something."

A _something,_ being a large, scaly, fire breathing monster.

Dorian tries not to worry whenever his lover goes traipsing about the countryside, ridiculous broadsword in hand and chestnut mount beneath him. The last time had been some blasted part of the Emerald Graves- Soren recounting the sudden icy breath greeting them from over the hill crest, and then a down hill struggle of Bull tossing Soren into the dragon's surprised face, Sera cackling madly as she threw potions of fire dowsed bees everywhere. Sometimes he doesn't know if he should feel sorry for the dragon or pull more of his greying hair out. There’s a reason he’s never been invited along on dragon hunts after all.  
  
Their first time running into a dragon had been on complete accident.

Right after their run in with the mages at Redcliffe, exhausted and scared from their adventure in the bad timeline, they’d strayed off course on the return trip. Nobody had any idea there was a high dragon lurking so close to the cities boarders. They’d been ambushed at night, her tiny dragonlings ripping apart their tent and supplies, loosing newly recruited mages in the process, and the only warning they’d had was Solas having felt the tremors in the Fade minutes before the slaughter.  
  
It was dirty, and underhanded, and sometimes Dorian wonders if something had happened to that poor dragon to make her act so savagely. The tales he hears from Cole tell a different story of the assumed monsters the history books boast about.  
  
He remembers it vividly, being trapped against the cliff wall, the golden dragon baring down with teeth running red with mage blood, and that probably would have been the end of his short tale, if the Inquisitor hadn’t appeared from seemingly nowhere and shielded him from the blast of hellfire.  
  
Back then he wasn’t skilled enough, didn’t have enough guard to protect himself with.  
  
Soren's armour had burnt like a hot element, turning ruby red and cooked the warrior from the inside out, until Dorian had enough sense to douse him with a blast of icy wind. He couldn’t help himself. He’d simply cowered there, slack jawed and amazed anybody would go to such lengths to save his life. Looking back on it now, that was probably the moment he'd fallen in love with him. Even while he smelt of burnt flesh and looked like a pink lobster.  
  
It had been Bull that finally decapitated the dragon, held in place by a surge of Solas’s spirit magic. The Qunari had been covered head to foot in blood, and danced about the sizzling skull like Christmas had come early, roaring with childish glee. Soren would have happily joined in if he hadn’t been immobilised on the ground.  
  
Thankfully, both mages in the party had enough sense to rip Soren out of his toasted armour and stop his burns from becoming third degree.  
  
Even with magic, he’d been bed ridden for over three weeks until he could walk again without cringing.   
  
So now, Dorian is forced to wait on nervous tender hooks each time he parades off to kill another one of the scaly menaces. Because apparently the first attempt hadn't been enough to scare him off. This time, Soren's dragon hunting party has marched off to the Storm Coast.

Its been about a week now, and all of Dorian's fingernails have been ruined, and he has panda eyes growing more prominent as the days go by. Not worrying is about as strange a concept to him as trying not to breath. He can't help himself. His over active imagination goes into over drive at night, conjuring up awful imagery of Soren's arms being clawed off, ribs cracking open like roasted chicken, or his head being cleanly bitten in two. Everytime a new worry line appears, Bull will casually slide across one more drink.

Rationally, Dorian knows Soren is more than capable of fending for himself. And would never dream of diminishing his abilities like that. Still.  
  
He returns to Soren’s room, too uptight to stomach more than one drink with Bull in the tavern, and when he opens the door he doesn’t know why he’s surprised to find the man in question already there, shirt off with Solas strapping bandages around his lower abdominals. There's a spark of anger that a messanger hadn't told him of his arrival sooner- which immediately bursts when he remembers how few take their relationship seriously.  
  
He shuts the door loudly, and both men look up. Soren’s face breaks out into a happy grin and Dorian hates himself for not getting annoyed. Smug, handsome bastard.  
  
“Good grief. What did he do this time?”  
  
“Not wait for me to heal him properly,” Solas says from behind his back, a faint glow spreading across the wrappings. “He was lucky this time. Only three hairline fractures on his bottom ribs. They spread a little, even on the back of his mount. But give it a week, and then I’ll give him permission to leave his bed. Normally its eight weeks, but I doubt he has the patience for that.”  
  
“Solas,” the warrior whines, dragging out the last syllable, before yelping loudly as the elf unnecessarily pulls the wrappings tighter, standing up when he finishes.    
  
“Healer’s orders, lethallin.”  
  
“I only wanted to set out right away to get home faster,” he sniffs in a woebegone manner, and Dorian presses his lips together. Damnit. He feels himself steadily growing warmer. The stupid fool had wanted to arrive back safety to stop him worrying. Now he definitely can’t get mad at him.  
  
“Make sure he stays put, Dorian,” Solas sighs in exasperation, forcing Soren into the bed and starts to pack up his small medical kit. “I’ll leave some herbs on the bedside table that will relieve some of the pain if it comes back during the night. It's up to you on how generous you feel about retrieving more from me in the morning,” he adds with a tiny smirk, and Dorian always knew there was a reason he's so fond of the old elf.  
  
Bidding them both goodnight, Dorian sees Solas out, locking the door behind him before returning to the room. Soren has propped himself up on some pillows, shuffling some of the blankets Solas had pulled up back down to his feet. He glances up, hand resting lightly on his stomach, trying to hide that it bothers him.  
  
“Not even a welcome home?”  
  
“I swear you do this on purpose.”  
  
“Now that’s certainly not true.”  
  
Unwilling to argue the matter further, he didn’t really mean to start it, Dorian moves around the bed, leaning down to peer into Soren’s face. A few more cuts have added to his already battered face, and he hasn’t shaved in a few days but that’s okay. He still feels just as familiar under his finger tips, solid and warm, and he lightly traces the old scar that splits through his lower lip. Dorian feels him smile against his fingers, lightly kissing the tips.  
  
“I’m just grateful you’ve returned in one piece.”  
  
“You keep thinking something will happen to me. How about you trust in my abilities a little bit more?” he grins, curling an arm around Dorian’s waist to inch him a little closer.  
  
“Your abilities aren’t the ones I worry about.”  
  
“A dragon? Let me tell you something about them, love. They’re as smart as humans, possibly more so. You should never underestimate a creature of that caliber. But even an intelligent creature can be enraged. And there in lies its weakness,” his eyes narrow to crafty slits, and Dorian gently rolls his own. Dragon's don't interest him, but he always has time to listen to Soren's excited rambles. “Dragon’s are prideful creatures. You need to please them, stroke their egos a little. It always pays to follow rituals, no matter how tedious you think they may be. Especially for something that may eat you,” with a grin, he pulls Dorian down, managing to shuffle a little to the side so he doesn’t lie fully on his wounds. Mindful, Dorian still supports his own weight gingerly, until he sees Soren puff out a breath and decides if he’s going to be cheeky about it, then he better not start whining when he lets his arms slacken and he curls more comfortably on his chest.  
  
“Its easy once you do that. A dragon’s greatest strength is its wings. Her wings were gorgeous, you know. Dappled with different purples and yellows, with bolts of white, like lightning through them. And that’s where you aim for,” he presses his fingers into Dorian’s side, who gives a startled jump. He smiles, running his fingers across the small of Dorian's back before lacing his fingers together to clutch at him more tightly.  “One, little, _push_ , and that’s all it takes to make them snap. Nobody thinks clearly once you tease them a little. Its all pure feeling and adrenaline. They make mistakes, leave themselves open. And that’s when you pounce.”  
  
“I’m starting to think you aren’t talking much about dragons anymore.”  
  
Soren smiles impishly.  
  
“That’s up for debate.”  
  
“I do enjoy listening to you talk about them,” he admits, though its mostly to watch his eyes light up and see more of his toothy grins rather than talking the actual facts in.  
  
“They are magnificent to watch. Even better to conquer.”  
  
“If you would let me come, I could share that. I won’t freeze up like the first time- although an ambush is hardly fair to judge my abilities on I should think,” its not really a jibe, or forcing him into another debate about it. Now he just wants to know.  
  
Soren breaths out, leaning up to softly nuzzle his nose under Dorian’s chin, waiting for him to turn his head slightly before kissing his throat. “Its not fair, I know. I know I shouldn't keep you at Skyhold. And yet I. That’s how _I_ worry. I don’t doubt you, Maker knows how quickly you can clear the field, and I don’t worry for our companions any less to not protect them more closely. It all sounds so selfish and contradictory, but I suppose the truth never is very pretty. But I still wouldn’t be able to leave you alone on the field like the others. Its how I’d end up killing myself.”

That bright image of Soren burning under the golden dragon's hot fire replays behind his mind's eye. Ah.  
  
He’s not annoyed. Or maybe he is- okay, yes he _is_ \- but not over Soren’s feelings. Its never about that. Its always his own, for feeling slightly happy at those words when he should rightly be annoyed at Soren’s babying. Yet. It shows he cares. Just like how he’ll stay up late by the window at night, waiting for him to come back. They both do it. And Dorian would never forbid him from stopping his dangerous tendencies, because it makes him genuinely happy. And who was he to stop the Inquisitor from being happy?  
  
“How do you always do that,” Dorian squints at him. “I should be calling you a dirty hypocrite for making me stay at home while you ignore my wishes of not jumping into a dragon’s mouth. Instead here I am, going slightly faint at realising you care. Its like I’ve started growing a heart.”  
  
“Ohno, however will you keep up that evil Tevinter magister appearance now.”  
  
“Perish the thought.”  
  
“Oh just admit it, and be honest with yourself for once. I _am_ pretty loveable.”  
  
“Now now, don’t go getting a big head, Amatus.”  
  
“I wonder who I got that from.”    
  
He gets a warning poke on the stomach, shutting him up rather fast, and Dorian smiles fondly up at him.  
  
“I suppose I do love you, don’t I.”  
  
He feels his heart give a small leap when Soren grins like a dopey pup, and quickly kisses him before he can take another sarcastic jab. Not that he really minds at all.


End file.
